Some Kind Of Cosmic Respite
by Dave-ck
Summary: "Don't tell me a body dropped? I know the city can't get by without me, but you'd think there'd be some kind of cosmic respite, you know? Save the world? Tick. Get a night off." Post-Countdown. One-shot.


**Notes:** Not angst, but this makes us even, Penguin Lady. Post-ep for Countdown. One-shot. Not BR, so please excuse any mistakes.

As always, I'd love to hear people's thoughts. (Even if – and especially if – it's just to say 'you got this wrong'.)

**Disclaimer: **Castle belongs to a genius greater than mine. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this.

–

**Some Kind of Cosmic Respite**

–

"Beckett!" He's surprised to see her in his doorway, especially after he'd left her in her boyfriend's arms at the precinct, but it's not exactly an unpleasant, this one.

A quick glance down at her attire – jeans and a pullover – and he knows she's not at his door in a professional capacity. He teases her anyway, has to, because it's only been a few hours since he'd taken her hand and she'd nodded at him and they'd shared what could have been their last breath.

"Don't tell me a body dropped? I know the city can't get by without me, but you'd think there'd be some kind of cosmic respite, you know? Save the world? Tick. Get a night off."

Kate shakes her head but she's grinning. "Nah, Castle, no body drops."

He leans against the door frame and grins back at her, too wide, all teeth and gums and crinkled eyes.

Kate's own grin widens in response and he catches sight of the laugh lines that crease at the corner of her smile and it's good, he thinks. Beautiful. He's coming to appreciate the idea of each of them having wrinkles.

"That only leaves one possible deduction, Detective."

"And what's that?"

And she's rolling her eyes, even before his, "You missed me."

If he's completely honest, he missed her, too. He won't say it, of course. He'll tell her, _You miss me_ and hint at, _You want me_ and he's projecting, but not entirely, not completely, because she doesn't deny his claim, doesn't even try.

She just raises her eyebrow and asks, "Are you going to let me in, Castle?"

"Of course, sorry, come in." He moves to the side and, not wanting to ask, but unable to stop himself, he peers past her in the hall. "What happened to Motorcycle Boy?"

"I sent him home."

There's something _final _about the way she says it. Something_ definitive_. But he doesn't know what, so he just says, "Oh."

"He has no idea, you know, about what happened today."

Rick nods and it occurs to him that it's maybe not that she _misses_ him, but that she _wants_ him. _Needs _him. And yeah, that's okay, because he wants nothing more than to spend his evening with her, with someone who understands how close they were to not having it at all_._

He'd bowed out earlier, and gracefully too, he thought, when her boyfriend had shown up, even though there was an _even though _to be had. Rick is far from an idiot when it comes to the fairer sex, and he'd seen his moment, of course he had. He'd recognised it for exactly what it was, and he'd almost latched onto it because they nearly died, damn it, but in the end he let it pass.

He had to, didn't he?

And besides, they still have a tomorrow, a chance for it to be right, happen right, because they aren't on the same page, he and Kate. Not yet. When he makes his move – _soon_ – he's going to make sure she wants him to.

Rick closes the door behind her and flips the lock. He's about to offer her a drink but the words stumble in his throat and die on his tongue when he feels strong, thin arms snake around his waist.

She wraps him in a fierce hug and Rick rests his hands on her forearms, allows himself to soak in her warmth against his back, to savour the feel of it.

Kate's speaking before he's ready to let the moment go. "You could have left, you know."

An echo of a memory in his head – _Someone to dive into to it _and _with me_ and _together _– and there's no way he would have left. Could have left. Not when–

"You wouldn't have left with me."

She shakes her head and he can feel it between his shoulder blades, her denial. But it's not his words she's denying. Just the meaning behind them.

"That shouldn't have stopped you. They kicked you off the case."

"They kicked you off too."

"Castle…" There's a warning in her voice and the arms around his waist loosen as she begins to pull away from him.

He catches her hand and links their fingers, stops her retreat, because he isn't ready to let her go yet.

And she lets him hold on.

"You still should have left."

He shrugs, uncomfortable with where the conversation is heading, and he's glad of a sudden that she can't see his face. "I could hardly leave the fate of the city in the hands of Homeland Security – or, worse, Ryan and Esposito."

Kate chuckles and her breath is a delightful tickle against his neck. "I'll tell them you said that."

"Good," he says, finally turning to face her. "Maybe next time they'll bring their A-game. Won't have to rely on a lowly writer to defuse their bombs."

He's smiling but she isn't and her face twists into a frown.

"You defused a bomb today."

"I defused a bomb today."

"You could have died."

"You would have." He waves their still clasped palms in front of her face. "If not for these hands."

She snorts and pulls her hand from his, and he can see it, the shift in her mood, the way she's pushing the serious and the scared and the worried, all of it, behind a wall. "They should be careful where they pin that medal, Castle. Might deflate your ego."

"Impossible, my ego is bullet-proof." He ushers her further into his loft and turns towards his kitchen. "Wine?"

She nods. "Sure."

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing towards the lounge, but she follows him. He turns to pull a pair of glasses from his cupboard and when he turns back she's in his personal space.

She stands in front of him, too close, crowding, lip between her teeth and her face is a mask of concern once more. "You're not, though."

He can barely breathe for her nearness. "What?"

"You're not bullet proof, Castle."

"I know that."

She presses a palm to his chest. "You seem to forget."

"True courage, Detective, is not forgetting fear, it's acting in spite of it." His brow furrows as he tries to recall the exact quote. "Or something."

"And there's that ego again." She drops her hand and the corner of her lips lift, just a little. And he's glad that he can give her that, something to smile about, a little bit of peace, maybe, even if they're all still reeling from the chaos.

"I feel like we've had this conversation already."

"Oh, no, are we getting repetitious?"

"Death knoll for a good writer."

"You could always fall back on your career of fighting crime."

He catches her hand again and she lets him. "Ah, but who would finance my lavish lifestyle? Or your caffeine addiction? Ferraris don't pay for themselves, you know."

She snorts but when he expects her to she doesn't pull away. Instead, she steps closer to him and it's suddenly all a little too intense.

Rick scans her face for some clue, some kind of hint as to the next step in their dance. He finds none. "Beckett?"

"You nearly died today."

"I didn't."

"I nearly lost you."

And that is _not_ what he was expecting. He's about to tell her so, to tell her something, but then–

Then. Oh.

–then their lips are pressed together and he's not sure if she's kissing him or he's kissing her, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, does it? No. Because it's soft and longing and delicate and he keeps it gentle, steady. Not pushing but not retreating either. He won't ask her for more. Not now. Not when he still stinks of exhaust fumes and still feels his skin crawl with inevitability, but it kills him a little bit, all this give without any take.

She's the one who deepens the kiss in the end, a flick of her tongue across his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth for her, helpless to resist the pull and the tease and the tug of her lips.

And it's still gentle. Still longing. Still deliciously sweet.

"I'm not leaving," he says when the need to breathe draws them apart.

Kate stays close, a hand tangled in his hair, her nose against his cheek, and when she laughs her breath is a hot caress against his lips.

"Good," is all she says.

And yeah, it is.

–

End


End file.
